As ‘dirty doggers’ invade the Yorkshire beauty spot of Haworth, our intrepid writer imagines how Wuthering Heights author Emily Bronte would react

IT’S enough to bring on a touch of the vapours!

Yesterday we told how doggers are taking over the Yorkshire beauty spot that inspired the Bronte sisters.

Locals and walkers are infuriated by the “perverts” having sex in the undergrowth and leaving used condoms at the idyllic nature reserve near the moorland village of Haworth.

A hiker has even pinned a notice to a gate asking the “dirty doggers” to stop using the area and “get a room.”

Here, EMILY FAIRBAIRN imagines what Wuthering Heights author Emily Bronte would have made of it all.

CHAPTER ONE

THERE was no possibility of taking a walk that day.

Instead we had been driving, and presently we found ourselves on the outskirts of Haworth.

I had heard tell of late of most peculiar occurrences on these very moors.

Some people of the town had reported sounds mysterious and strange, as well as certain items left strewn around that were indicative of vulgarity and degradation.

Nothing could have seemed more out of place in the sweet village of Haworth, a place of singular charm and tranquillity lined with vintage shops and tea rooms.

Gentle reader, I lingered here awhile, hoping only for a tonic for the sort of dangerous passions the moors are said to inflame.

Once I had been comfortably accommodated, I took my cloak, my bonnet and my muff, and returned to my carriage.

My companion and I hastened for the moors, our minds filled with troubling thoughts.

“Miss Bronte,” said he. “Do these surroundings give you a strange sensation? Do they not provoke desire quite unlike you have ever felt before?”

“For shame!” said I. “This is a beauty spot, meant only for the delight of hikers and birdwatchers! You are a most wicked man.”

By now we found ourselves deep in the shrubbery of the moor and we began to hear unnatural noises.

We pressed on, determined not to let any impediment stand in the way as I endeavoured in good earnest to find out what disturbance this was.

On turning a corner I caught sight in the undergrowth a most unattractive woman, who seemed possessed of a lively disposition.

She was not alone, and across her lay a balding man of significant rotundity bearing a look of great satisfaction.

Lying at their side was the unmistakable sight of a discarded sheath.

I turned to my companion to exclaim at the absurdity of this situation, only to see in his eyes a look I recognised.

Glancing down, I saw that he was quite agitated.

Before I knew it, we too were tumbling into the undergrowth with some ferocity. And did I resist his advances?

I did not. Reader, I straddled him.